


(i try not to) hold on to what is gone

by droseth



Series: variety show [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droseth/pseuds/droseth
Summary: Curt tries to get Owen out after he falls, but in the end, Chimera gets their man and Curt is left scarred.When Owen runs into Curt again, a few years after the end of their partnership, the man he finds is not the man he remembers.He needs to find out what happened to Curt Mega, what made him like this. And once he knows, Owen will be able to hate Curt Mega again.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: variety show [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667800
Comments: 38
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey what's up  
> I would like all readers to be pre-warned that I am a fickle and unreliable writer, so do not count on updates, and if there _are_ updates, do not expect them to follow any sort of schedule.
> 
> fic name is taken from the song My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit, which was playing when I needed a name and seemed relevant.

It's been years since Owen has been in this city. The last time was about eighteen months before his 'death', so that would be… four years ago now.

Owen sneers as he walks the half-familiar streets. Curt had lived not far from here, last time Owen visited. He wondered if he was still in the same shitty flat.

Part of him snarls at the thought of _him,_ whispers about betrayal and revenge. But another part couldn't help but think of that time with a deep, wistful longing. Things were… simpler then, in a way. Or perhaps he wasn't as broken then.

He's dragged from his thoughts when he collides with a passerby. The other man's cane clatters to the ground, and Owen bends down to pick it up without thinking. He may be a ruthless killer, but his mother still raised him with manners.

"Ah, thank you," says the man, and Owen tenses, white-hot rage flooding his body because _he knows that voice._ "I... didn't see you there."

Owen straightens up slowly, vicious words building up behind his teeth. When he looks at the man, though, they die on his tongue and an icy horror freezes him in place.

It's Curt Mega, because of course it is. It's just Owen's luck that he would run into the man he had once loved, who had left him for dead. But he's not at all the Curt that he remembers.

Owen was under no illusion that Curt would be the same as when he last saw him, but he never expected _this._

He offers the cane out numbly, and Curt takes it with a nod and a murmured thanks. Owen doesn't know where to look. His eyes dart rapidly, trying to catalog all the changes in the man before him. 

The cane in his left hand. The sleeve, empty and pinned at the shoulder. The eyepatch over his right eye. The scarring that spreads from the covered socket, down his face and neck to disappear under his shirt collar.

He'd known Curt was alive - Chimera had made sure to keep Owen updated about how his former partner. They had told him how Curt had survived, how he had _retired_. It was clear seeing Curt now though that they had omitted the details of _why_ he'd retired.

Curt says something, Owen is sure, but his ears might as well be plugged with cotton for all he hears. It's when Curt goes to walk away that Owen is able to kick himself back into action. 

"Wait!" He calls out, reaching for Curt's arm - his _missing_ arm, but withdraws before Curt notices. Owen isn't too proud to admit that he's panicking, even if he’d never say it aloud. "Let me buy you a coffee. As an apology."

Curt gives him a quizzical look, but smiles and agrees. His smile is lopsided now, scars pulling his mouth down on the right. 

Owen may have been in the area before, but Curt is the one who lives here, so he lets Curt lead the way. He watches Curt as they walk, making awkward small talk on the way. The cane is clearly not for show, Owen surmises, taking in the noticeable limp and the way Curt leans on it. 

It's not long before they arrive at a little diner, tucked down an alley and away from the heavy foot traffic of the busy streets. Owen hasn't been here before, and he wonders when and how Curt found the place.

A woman behind the counter looks up as they walk in. She’s young, dressed plainly with dark hair shorn daringly short. She’s bent over a thick textbook that she shoves under the counter when she hears the door ring. Her face lights up at the sight of them. 

"Curt!" She says with a smile, hurrying over to hug him and press a gentle kiss to his unscarred cheek. "It's so good to see you - oh, and who's your friend?"

Curt laughs, leaning into the touch for a moment. "You see me every day, Jules," he says. "And I'm afraid I didn't catch your name…?"

Owen realises that they're both looking at him, that they want to know his _name._ He didn't have a name, not anymore. He didn’t need one - he was the Deadliest Man Alive. 

Oh, sure, he still called himself Owen in the quiet of his mind, but more and more it was just another title, a reminder of who he had been and what he had lost. A reminder of who to blame, who to _hate_. 

"Uh, Damien," he blurts out. "Damien… Field."

It’s hard to hate this broken version of Curt, though. He hates _Agent Curt Mega_ , without a doubt. He hates the man who betrayed him and abandoned him, who ran away and retired, who _left him_.

He’s rebuilt himself around that fact. But this man? This softened, shattered Curt? Owen doesn’t know this man, and he finds he can’t hate him.

Not yet.

An idea - a stupid, reckless, _idiotic_ idea - is forming in his head as he and Curt take a seat and Jules writes down Owen - _Damien’s_ order. He needs to find out what happened to Curt Mega, what made him like this. And once he knows, Owen will be able to hate Curt Mega again. 

Simple.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen starts digging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what up i am stressed, depressed, and obsessed with this goddamn fic
> 
> I also want to say that I am _extremely_ mad at myself because what. what the fuck. this is nearly 2.5 times longer than the first chapter?? how did that happen. sure hope i can continue this.
> 
> anyway, here you go, enjoy.
> 
> OH ALSO. I'm bad at responding to comments but I See Them and I Love You.
> 
> 28/3 minor wording edits and removed some extra spaces, but nthing major

Of course, finding out what happened isn’t _quite_ that simple.

He tracks down Curt’s old apartment from memory, though it doesn’t take long to work out that he doesn’t live there anymore. Owen’s not too surprised. It’s been four years, and Curt’s old place was on the fifth floor of a building with an elevator prone to breaking down. With the way Curt was limping, there was no way he’d stay there if he could avoid it.

Talking to the new tenants is useless - they've only been there two months, and know nothing about the previous residents. Looking up old residential records is also a bust. _Apparently,_ there was an incident a while back that led to the loss of various important documents. Including the documentation for Curt’s old apartment for the five years prior. Owen suspects ASS interference, but it could just be his luck. It’s been shit enough lately that he wouldn’t be surprised.

Owen debates trying to use Chimera’s resources to try and track down Curt’s current home, or even his medical records, but in the end, it’s too risky for his liking. Their network wasn’t spread so far into the ASS that the files of high-profile agents (even those that were retired) would be easy to acquire. There was also a part of him - a rather considerable part - that wants to keep Chimera out of this. They hadn’t lied to him, exactly, but it was clear they had kept things from him. Who was to say they wouldn’t do it again? No, if Owen wants to know what happened to Curt, he's going to have to find out himself.

After all his research, the only lead Owen has is the one Curt gave him himself. The diner Curt took him to, Cliff’s. 

He watches the place for about a week, wearing different disguises. In that time he learns the faces and schedules of the staff. And he learns that every day, Curt goes to the diner. 

The timing seems to be based on Jules’ work schedule. Often within an hour of Jules starting her shift, Curt will arrive, his coffee already waiting for him. He’ll usually stay a while, ordering breakfast if he visits in the morning, but otherwise just looks to be there for conversation. 

It makes something sour in Owen’s gut, the clear attachment that Curt has to this woman. He's not jealous, absolutely not, why would he be? They hadn't ever discussed it, but Owen was well aware that while he found both men and women attractive, Curt had never cared for the 'fairer sex' in that way. But even the faint, impossible idea that Curt had moved on… It didn't matter. 

Owen had moved on, what did it matter who Curt associated with these days.

The only deviances from this pattern are when Jules works a night shift or doesn’t come in at all. On those days, Curt visits in the mornings, just long enough to have his coffee and go. His interactions with the other staff are far more brief and reserved, but friendly enough that it’s clear he’s been a regular there for some time. 

He tries to follow Curt from the diner. It takes him three attempts before Owen can track him to his workplace. Even disabled and retired, Curt can still notice and lose a tail. Owen’s edge is sharper than Curt’s though, and he eventually sees him entering a nondescript government building. 

To a civilian, it would look like any other government office, but Owen is not a civilian. He’s familiar enough with secret organisations that he can see the subtle signs. The decor, the demeanor of the employees, the hidden cameras and microphones dotted around the place.

Curt might have retired from fieldwork, it's clear he still has connections with the ASS. 

It’s both a breakthrough and yet another roadblock. He’s found where Curt works - but his chances of retrieving any information from here without detection are low. He again considers using Chimera’s resources, but the risk of exposure should he get caught is even greater now with Curt being an active agent. Even if he’s only a desk agent.

Of course, there’s also the fact that Chimera misled him again. He’s hesitant to call it a lie. Did they ever actually _say_ Curt had retired from the ASS? Or did they say he’d retired from active field duty, and Owen had misunderstood?

In the end, he doesn’t have to make a decision. He spends a few days unsuccessfully trying to follow Curt home before he gets his mission brief from Chimera. 

It honestly feels like a surprise when he gets the meeting details. He’s gotten so caught up in the mystery of Curt Mega that he forgot what he was actually here for. Much to his disappointment, the mission has nothing to do with the ASS. No chance to use it as an opportunity to get anything on Curt.

Thankfully, the mission doesn’t seem to be too strenuous or involved. It’s simple enough for someone of his skill and reputation, though it looks like it’ll take a bit of time. More time for Owen to begin the next phase of his personal mission.

He starts going into the diner. Not every day, but enough to establish a pattern and get the staff and the other regulars used to his face. It also gives him time to settle into the skin of ‘Damien Field’. 

He gets to know Jules - Julia, as her name tag says - and hates that he actually likes her. She’s quick-witted, with a dry sense of humour and a keen memory. He thinks that, in other circumstances, they could even have been friends. But the circumstances are what they are, so it’s not worth thinking about.

Between his Chimera issued mission and his carefully timed avoidance of Curt, Owen doesn’t see Curt for nearly two weeks before he lets himself coincide with one of Curt's visits. 

It’s about 8:30am, but apparently Curt came in earlier than he expected because he’s already seated in his usual booth by the time Owen arrives.

He catches the tail end of Curt and Jules’ conversation while he waits.

"-fixed your leg?" 

"Yup," Curt says with a crooked grin. "Good as new."

Jules sighs with relief, sliding Curt his coffee. "Thank God for that. It was painful enough to watch, I don't even want to _think_ about how it felt."

Curt huffs, amused, and takes a sip of his coffee while Jules moves over to Owen to take his order.

"Hello again Mr. Field," she says with a small smile, notepad and pen at the ready. "Something new today, or would you like the same as last time?"

Owen places his order, returning her smile politely. Left to his own devices again, he drums his fingers against the counter. He’s here now, but to be honest he’s not sure how to approach Curt. In his old missions for MI6, he’d be given a briefing on who to be and how to approach the target. He’s never had to wing it as much as this. That was always more C- _Mega’s_ forte. Maybe it’s time to take a page out of his old partner’s book.

Steeling himself, Owen makes his way over to Curt, hovering awkwardly by his table.

"May I join you?" He tries to project a friendly persona, though he's not sure how well he manages. He's been trying to suppress his vitriol with some heavy compartmentalising between _Agent Mega_ and _civilian Curt._ Hopefully he just appears nervous.

Curt looks up at him with a small frown, before recognition breaks through. "Feel free," he says, waving his arm to the seat across from him.

Even though he knows what to expect this time, Owen’s still surprised when he really looks at Curt. Sliding into the seat, Owen takes note of the changes since he last saw him up close.

His sleeve is still empty, but the cane is nowhere in sight today. The patch is missing as well. The absence - and his more collected state of mind - give Owen a chance to better appreciate the scarring that now decorates Curt’s face. 

There’s a large star-shaped scar on his right temple, half-hidden by his hair. A deep, wide scar cuts through his eyebrow and over his eye, curving down towards the corner of his jaw. The eyelid droops slightly over a false eye, the colour of it slightly off. Maybe no one else would notice, but Owen’s spent enough time looking into those eyes that it’s obvious to him.

Smaller scars pepper his cheek and jaw, joining with the ones creeping up his neck. One twists the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl. He wonders how far down they go.

He’s staring, Owen knows this, though he hopes he’s subtle enough that Curt doesn't notice. 

"We met the other day, didn't we - it's Damien, right?"

Owen smiles, pleased to be remembered. "Yes, Damien Field. I'm sorry, I don't recall your name…?"

"Curt Mays," he says, holding his hand out to shake. It's a little awkward, shaking with the left hand, but it’s not the first time he’s had to do so.

"Right, Curt. It's good to see you again. I wanted to thank you for introducing me to this place. Do you… come here often?” Owen flushes slightly at the inanity of the question, but Curt just laughs. 

It’s… captivating. Owen hadn’t realised how much he had missed the sound (how much he had missed _Curt_ ) until now. There’s something lighter about it too. It reminds him of the thought he had when he first saw Curt again - that he had _softened_. Owen thinks that he should view it as a weakness, but all he can see is strength. 

“Yeah,” Curt says, still smiling. “I come in most days. They make the best coffee this side of the city, and I gotta come see my best gal Jules.”

His ‘best gal’ rolls her eyes as she sets down Owen’s tea and slides a plate of food in front of Curt. Owen notes that most of it had already been cut up.

“Our coffee is shit, and you know it, Mays. You just come here to harass me,” she says, hand on her hip. She turns to address Owen. “Your food will be right out, Mr. Field.”

“A girl like you can make even shit taste sweet,” Curt jokes. The words have a well-worn quality, like they’ve had this exact conversation a thousand times before. It makes something inside Owen _seethe._

Jules finally turns to leave. “You sure that isn’t the five sugars I put in your coffee for you?”

“You’re a gem, Jules!” 

Owen’s nails dig into his palms, clenched beneath the table. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax. “So how long have you two been dating?”

The torture of the last few minutes is almost worth it when Curt chokes on his coffee, hacking loudly. “W-what?” He stutters, face red. “N-no, no! Me’n Jules - we’re friends - good friends! But just friends. Besides, she’s uh, seeing someone else.”

“He’s not my type,” Jules chimes in, setting Owen’s plate down in front of him. “If that’s all you boys need, I’ll leave you to it.”

They eat in silence for a bit. Owen takes the time to calm himself down a bit. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up about this. Getting jealous of a bit of _banter_ , of all things, is not conducive to his mission. Stop getting distracted, start getting information.

“So, how did you find this place?”

Owen draws Curt into conversation. It’s more comfortable than last time, when Owen was still stunned by the encounter, and Curt seems to be more open and at ease this time as well. They talk for a good while before Curt checks his watch and curses.

“Sorry to run out on you, but I need to dash,” Curt says, apologetic. He stands, picking up a satchel that Owen hadn’t noticed and slinging it over his shoulder. 

Owen won’t admit that he’s disappointed as he stands as well. “Of course,” he says. “Don’t let me keep you. Perhaps another time?”

Curt looks at him, a thoughtful gleam in his good eye. It sends a thrill down Owen’s spine, burning when Curt smiles at him, slow and sweet.

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “I’m here most days, so you know where to find me.”

Owen watches him go, his limp only noticeable because he knows to look for it. He tries to convince himself that the giddy curl of anticipation is because he successfully accomplished his mission goals. 

The look in Jules’ eyes as she clears their dishes away makes it clear that she is not convinced.

He leaves in a hurry, keen to be away from her awfully knowing gaze. It’s time to plan the next phase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jules is a Lesbian and she and Curt have that mlm/wlm solidarity. Jules knows what is Up, Owen, and what is Up is that you are extremely In Fucking Love with Curt. She has no time for your denial btich.
> 
> also i made Curt's last name Mays here bc you can't just let 'one of the best spies' loose in retirement with the name he used as a spy. Maye happens to look a little like Mega and then I was like fuck it, Mays.
> 
> As always, I hope I update, but do not hold your breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen gets a break, and makes some assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as we all know, these are trying times, and also my brain hates me. but here we are. i am both sorry this wasn't updated sooner and also extremely pleased i'm updating at all.
> 
> I did have more planned, but I've been sitting on this for a week or so, and 2000ish words is plenty.

Owen is starting to get worried. 

It’s been nearly a month since he started (re)connecting with Curt, six weeks since he first ran into him, and his investigation has, quite frankly, stalled. 

He picks up bits and pieces through their conversations. Owen learns about Curt’s job, about his family and his hobbies. Some of it he already knew from before, some of it is sanitised for public consumption, though Owen knows how to read between the lines. 

Some of it is new. It unsettles Owen every time he learns something new. Was this something he never knew about Curt, or is it a recent discovery? He’s not sure what’s worse - that he didn’t know Curt as well as he thought, or that Curt is no longer the man he knew. 

None of it is what he’s looking for though, and his superiors are starting to get impatient. He’s been pushing his mission for Chimera out as long as possible, but he’s going to have to finish it soon. And when he does, he’ll have to leave, and his chances of returning are… not good.

Owen knows he can’t come out and _ask_ what happened. That would be the quickest way to get shut down. Besides, it’s incredibly rude, and Owen likes to think he’s still a decent person. Murder aside, of course.

He’s tried tracking Curt from the ASS building he works at, but Owen has never actually seen Curt leave. He can only guess that he works odd hours, or that there must be other, unknown entrances through which Curt leaves. Maybe both. It doesn’t help that his own mission interferes, and he’s unable to consistently keep watch there. 

Maybe he should give up, let it go. Owen knows that won’t work for him though. The question would eat at him until it had consumed him as thoroughly as his vengeance once had. He hadn’t noticed when his desire for revenge had eased, but he knew it was Curt’s fault, as usual.

Two more weeks, he tells himself. He has two weeks to find out what happened, and then his time was up and he would have to return to Chimera. Regardless of whether he had completed his mission - official and unofficial - or not.

* * *

He’s surprised when he enters the diner to see that Curt is nowhere to be found. Owen knows he’s a bit later than usual, but he didn't think he was too late to miss Curt. He looks around, hoping to ask Jules where he is, but she’s already hurrying over.

"Thank god you're here," Jules says as she bustles him over to Curt’s usual booth. She looks frazzled, hair messed up from where she's run her hands through it, a smudge of syrup on her cheek. "Listen, I have a _huge_ favour to ask - lemme get your tea and I’ll be right back."

Owen takes a seat as she disappears again, a bit stunned. What on earth…? They’re friendly, yes, but Owen didn’t think they were close enough to be asking favours of each other. Unless… Maybe this was about Curt? Most likely - they had little else in common - but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

As promised, Jules returns shortly after with his tea. It is, as always, too weak for his tastes and lukewarm, but he suffers through it anyway. Jules doesn’t notice his distaste as she plops herself down across from him.

“I need you to check on Curt for me.”

Owen blinks, setting his tea down carefully. “Excuse me?” Nevermind then, perhaps his luck had indeed turned around then.

“Curt’s sick,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Curt’s sick, his mom’s out of town, and I can’t get anyone to cover me. You don’t need to stay or anything,” she says quickly. “Just, if you could pop in, make sure he’s still breathing, get him to drink some water, remind him that painkillers exist - I would really appreciate it.”

She fidgets nervously. Owen watches her hands flutter, unable to settle on one activity. Jules must notice him staring because she flattens them against the table before hiding them in her lap. 

“Damien?” Jules says anxiously when the silence drags out a touch too long for comfort.

“I - yes, of course,” he stutters out, startled by the request and the sound of his false name. No _way_ is he turning this opportunity down, who knew if he’d get another one so good? Still… “Is there really no one else you can ask?”

Jules gives a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you _so much_ , I’m serious.” She takes a breath, some of the tension leaving her frame. “And unfortunately, no. Curt… doesn’t exactly have many friends. But you and Curt seem to have hit it off, so I’m trusting you, okay?” She points at him with her pen, a mock threatening look on her face. Owen ignores the guilt that crawls up his throat, taking another sip of his tea. 

She pulls out her notepad and scribbles down an address, rattling off directions and where he can find the spare key as she does. As Owen stands up to leave, abandoning his barely drunk tea, he’s surprised when Jules pulls him into a hug. It’s quick enough that he doesn’t have time to tense before she’s gone again.

“Thanks again, Damien,” she calls over her shoulder, hurrying over to an impatient-looking businessman. Owen shakes his head, bemused, leaving his payment on the table. With a generous tip for Jules, of course. It’s not her fault the tea here is shit.

* * *

The building Curt lives in isn’t far from the diner, within walking distance actually. Owen laments the fact that Curt apparently never goes home after visiting the diner. It was always to work, or the shops, or wherever else he went when Owen lost him. If he had, it would have made this whole situation _so much easier_. 

It’s a nice building, certainly not as shitty as Curt’s last one. The elevator works at least, though Curt’s only on the first floor here. He decides he can scope the facilities later though and makes his way to the apartment listed on Jules’ note. A knock at the door produces no response. Spare key it is, then.

The apartment is dark when he opens the door, and Owen wonders for a moment if Curt is even here. He freezes at the sound of a safety clicking off.

“Who the fuck are you?” There’s an edge of steel in Curt’s voice that Owen hasn’t heard in years. It sends a thrill down his spine and curls hot in his belly. He tells himself it’s the adrenaline of being at gunpoint. He doesn’t quite believe it.

He raises his hands slowly. “Whoa there, it’s Damien. From the diner? Jules sent me to check on you?”

Owen has barely started speaking before Curt drops his arm. He sighs tiredly, tucking the gun back behind the couch cushions. 

“Sorry,” Curt says. “I didn’t recognise you.” He sounds terrible, words slurring together. Owen wonders if he’s drunk. Did Jules really send him over because Curt had a _bad hangover?_ He hadn’t seen any evidence of his old partner’s bad habit before now, but maybe he wasn’t in the right environment. The heat in his gut sours and cools. 

As Owen’s eyes adjust to the dim light of the apartment, he can see that Curt looks as bad as he sounds, maybe worse. He’s pale, with great bruises under his eyes. He’s not wearing a patch or prosthetic today, and Owen can see the shiny pink of his empty eye socket. A blanket is spread over his lap, an old patchwork thing. His mother’s work, most likely.

“So what’s wrong with you?” Owen asks. “Since Jules sent me all the way over here.” He knows he’s being rude, but there’s a wave of derision rising at the sight of Curt incapacitating himself this way. What a waste.

“S’fine, just a migraine,” Curt mutters, curling in on himself as he lies down. “Jules worries too much.”

Oh, Owen thinks, and feels guilty for his uncharitable thoughts only moments ago. He’s ashamed at how quick he is to jump to the worst conclusions about Curt. _But hasn’t he given you good reason to_ , argues some part of him.

“Oh,” Owen says aloud, pushing those thoughts away. “Is there… anything I can do?”

“Ice,” he manages after a lengthy pause. “And some water. Please”

“Right, okay, where…?”

“Kitchen’s through there, first door on the left,” Curt says with a nod towards a door across from the entrance. He rattles off slurred instructions on where to find what he needs.

Everything is where Curt said it would be - glasses in the cupboard by the sink, towels in the second drawer, ice pack in the freezer. Owen takes a moment to snoop. The cupboards are bare but for a few staples, which Owen finds unsurprising if a little concerning. The fridge is a little better, though Owen suspects Mrs. Mega’s work considering that it’s largely stocked with containers of some sort of stew. 

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Curt’s kitchen is that Owen can’t find a single drop of alcohol. Not even an empty bottle. Admittedly, he doesn’t have time to do a truly thorough search, but Curt was never one to hide his alcohol or his habits. Questions to consider later, he decides, gathering what he needed and heading back out to the living room. 

He finds Curt tucked into the corner of the couch, face buried in one of the few mismatched cushions that hasn’t been tossed to the floor. He looks so small. The sight makes some long-forgotten part of his heart ache. 

“Hey, I’ve got what you asked for,” Owen says gently. Curt grunts, sitting up for a moment to put the towel wrapped bundle on the cushion, before planting his face directly on it. Owen goes to say something, but closes his mouth with a sigh. That’s… one way to apply it.

He sets the water on the small table beside the couch, clearing his throat to try and draw Curt’s attention to it. Curt grumbles, but sits up again to dig through the couch cushions - Jesus Christ, how much shit did he have in there - before pulling out a pill bottle. Owen nearly offers his help as Curt fumbles with it. He doesn’t get the chance though, as Curt deftly twists it open and places the lid on the side table, tapping a few pills into it. 

Curt knocks back the pills and drains the glass Owen brought him. He wonders if he should get Curt some more water as the pill bottle disappears back into the couch, and Curt promptly faceplants back onto his ice pack. “Okay,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow. “Thanks for checkin’ in. You don’t have to stick around, I’m sure you’ve got other shit to do.”

Owen hesitates. He doesn’t have to stay, no. Jules only asked him to check on Curt, not babysit him. But… he doesn’t have to leave either. This is the best opening he’s had this whole damn time. The misery and exhaustion in Curt’s voice makes something cold clench in his gut though. For once, it’s not that icy rage he’s become so familiar with, but something… sadder, that he can’t quite name. It makes him want to run.

“If you’re sure you’ll be okay…” he says uncertainly. Curt mumbles something vaguely affirmative. Owen chews his lip. “Will I see you at Cliff’s tomorrow?”

Curt rolls his head to the side to face him. “Probably not,” he says with a grimace. He looks like he wanted to say more, but instead shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Then… would you mind if I came here instead? Keep you company, perhaps?”

Curt stares at him, surprised, before huffing a weak laugh. “I- Sure. That’d be - nice, I think.”

Owen returns the smile with a promise to see him tomorrow, and lets himself out. The smile falls away once he shuts the door, and he presses his palms against his eyes. This was what he wanted, a way in, an opening, and yet… He couldn’t help but feel like he was getting in over his head.

Taking a deep breath, he shakes the thought away, though the feeling lingers. Curt would still be here tomorrow with the answers to Owen’s questions. Some of them at least. 

Right now though, he couldn’t let himself be distracted. There was still his mission for Chimera, and he needed to start pushing the last pieces into place if he was to complete it on schedule. Time to live up to his reputation, and perhaps indulge in some more violent delights. 

_No rest for the wicked,_ Owen thinks with one last lingering glance back at Curt’s building. If the thought is less satisfying than it usually is, he pretends not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what up i’m australian, i work in a lab, and i have a terrible sense of smell & taste. i do NOT know how tipping, the service industry, or tea works. if im vague enough i can get away with anything, hopefully. 
> 
> child proof lids were invented in 1967, so I assume Curt can open the pill bottle okay. or maybe jules transferred all his pills to an easy to open bottle. who can say. i watched like, a bunch of youtube videos about opening shit with one hand? i really like this one guy, Left Shoulder Closed. he's just a dude, with no left arm, with little advice videos. he's cool.
> 
> Curt also suffered a head injury. I’m,,, probably not doing this shit justice, but i hope I’m not making too much of a mess of things. anyway, it’s had lasting consequences
> 
> There are likely other issues he has now I’m sure which you can headcanon abt if you like, but two things im defs going to say are:  
> \- he gets super bad migraines now.  
> \- he has mild face blindness. He can recognise Mom Mega, and Cynthia, and Jules bc he’s had time to get to know their faces post-accident, but he’s used to seeing ‘Damien’ in a certain context, and he’s got a really bad migraine rn. he's not at 100% okay. He recognises Damien by his voice.
> 
> these are both things the internet has said can occur after a brain injury, and if im wrong, alternate universe i guess.


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